


a city of angels

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 18:04:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: Rick's got wings. (No, it's not a metaphor.)





	a city of angels

**Author's Note:**

> (Could be read either 'ship or gen, depending on how you view one dude fixing another dude's feathers.)

Cliff's just turned the first page of chapter two when Rick's voice floats out of the trailer, a little hoarse. "Cliff, you still out there?"

"Yeah, buddy, you need something?"

"Come on in here, would you?"

Cliff slides out of the golf cart and tucks the book in his back pocket. Inside the trailer, the first thing he sees is Rick's wings, all mousy-brown and mottled, and fluffed up. "Bird problems?" he asks, and Rick turns part of the way around, looking distinctly uncomfortable without a shirt on and with his wings out. There's that crease between his brows.

"I can't reach the ones that're - ruff-ruffled," he replies, frowning. "Can't put 'em away without fixing the ruffled ones. Could - could you be a pal?"

"Sure." 

Rick turns around again, the span of his wings nearly brushing the thin walls of the trailer on either side. Cliff can see where the middle row of feathers is in disarray, the fine hair-like strands that make up each feather criss-crossed all through and around each other. He starts untangling them immediately, with careful fingers. Rick lets out a long breath.

"How'd you manage this, anyway?" Cliff asks. 

"Tried to get in a quick catnap over lunch, on that shitty couch there, and woke up like this." He gestures to the small couch, which is really no more than a poorly padded bench, and sounds as grumpy as his wings look. 

"Well, don't do that." 

Rick grumbles under his breath and folds his arms, judging from the way his shoulders move. His wings rustle, and Cliff strokes a hand along the upper part that feels the boniest, putting the feathers into place as he does. They're soft under his hands, and while Rick always sort of treats them like they're a burden - and homely to boot - Cliff likes straightening out all the feathers for him, and thinks the mixture of muted browns and grays suits Rick nicely. He's sure he's the only person in this town to have seen them; something about how they work makes them disappear under whatever Rick might be wearing, and he's never done a role where he's had to be completely shirtless. "Don't know how or why, really," Rick said once. "But somehow people don't see them unless I really want them to."

The first time he'd seen Rick's wings, Rick hadn't been answering the front door at the house so Cliff keyed in, didn't see him in the kitchen or the living room, and so went to the back bedroom. He figured Rick was probably still sleeping off an overabundance of whiskey. 

Cliff rapped his knuckles on the door, saying, "Rick. We gotta go."

There was a vague mumble from within, so he swung the door open, and thought at first that Rick had gone on some drunken escapade into the studio wardrobe, and stolen a strap-on pair of wings. Then he realized the wings were moving with Rick, and that they protruded from his back in a way that definitely wasn't costume. "What the hell," he said without thinking.

"Oh, I - oh." Rick sat up and the sheet pooled around his waist. The wings stretched, the tips trembling. "They came in when I was four-fourteen," he said, after he'd looked at Cliff for a few long seconds without speaking. His eyes were slightly bloodshot. "My mother's side of the family."

Cliff rubbed his hands over his eyes, then looked again. 

"Hurt like the goddamned devil," Rick added. He got out of the bed, and the wings moved with him. 

"Can you fly?" Cliff asked, before he thought to himself how absurd the question was.

Rick huffed. The wings stretched again and beat just once, and Cliff felt the change in the air, but Rick's feet didn't come up off the floor. "Wish I could, buddy."

Cliff looked at the mottled gray and brown that surrounded Rick. The feathers looked soft; they had a light sheen, but there were a few fluffy-looking ones along the top. At the bottom, they nearly touched the floor. "Fucking crazy."

"You said it." Rick looked at his watch and winced. "Had a few too many last night. Five - gimme five minutes and I'll be out."

"Where do the wings go when you get dressed?"

Rick rolled his eyes. Then the wings seemed to flutter in a way that made all the edges look blurry, and made Cliff want to rub his eyes again, and suddenly they were gone. "That's where," Rick said, and went into the walk-in closet.

Cliff skims his fingertips along the fluffy top-line feathers now, because he knows it tickles a little, and Rick squirms slightly but makes another noise that's less grumpy. "Hurry it up, would you?" he mutters, not very loud.

Cliff continues moving the feathers into their correct places without changing pace. The first few times he'd done this for Rick, he worried he'd break something, or accidentally pull something he shouldn't, but only once had a feather come loose in his hand, followed by Rick saying "I lose a couple every so often," seemingly unconcerned. So Cliff stuck the feather behind his ear and continued working. He still had it, sitting in a plastic cup with pens in the trailer. 

Someone knocks on the door of the trailer, startling them both. A voice calls, "Your scene, Mr. Dalton."

"Be right there," Rick calls back. To Cliff he says, "You best be done."

"I'm done, I'm done," Cliff laughs. He runs his palms down and out, just to enjoy the feel, before the wings rustle and do the fast blur thing - always a trip to see, like he's high - and then they've disappeared. Rick's back is smooth, and the muscles move under the skin as he grabs his starched white wardrobe shirt and pulls it on.

"Here," Cliff says, and starts doing up the tiny pearl buttons from the bottom, leaving Rick to do the cuffs. "It's a nice shirt, you gonna steal it?"

Rick looks down as though he hadn't even realized it looked good on him. "Might do," he says, before his face breaks into a smile.


End file.
